


between the lines

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin from the town line to New York and back again.  Season 4 Outlaw Queen, some Robin x Marian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	between the lines

 

She pulls back first.

 

It takes him a moment to realize that she is letting go - that she is turning away from him - and his heart skips a beat as he feels her fingers drop, feels the weight of her hand leave his (he curls his fingers inward, searching for the warmth of her touch but all he feels is the cold).  

 

His legs move without much effort. Behind him wait his wife and his son and yet in front of him –

 

There is nothing.

 

He cannot see anything save for the town line and the cracked pavement, but he knows there are people, and Regina, and he isn’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse to not see her one last time.

 

He takes a deep breath, and turns around.

 

…

 

(It is both.  It will always be both.)

 

…

 

They take the bus to New York City.

 

Returning with the curse means he understands what a bus is but _doesn’t_ , the knowledge already in his head and yet so difficult to explain to Marian.  Marian, who looks at him with wide open eyes (she is always so scared, his wife, and he knows that this world is frightening and yet – ).  His tongue trips over the words to describe the large vehicle as they stand at the bus station, as they buy tickets with the credit card that Regina gave him.

 

At the town line, she had given him a bag full of supplies and a map to lead them to their new home.

 

_“This will help you get where you need to go,” she said, “I marked the apartment in red and I wrote directions down too - you can’t miss it.”_

 

And he tries not to think about the lack of light in her eyes in that moment, something that made her as unfamiliar as the woman who sits across the aisle with ~~his~~ their son in her lap, their brown heads bowed together as they silently sleep and yet -

 

He pulls the cell phone out of his pocket, finds Regina’s number, and then he stops. 

 

He can’t. 

 

Not now.  Not ever again, for there is no way to return to Storybrooke, and he has a wife and child he must care for, and vows that he must honor.

 

He slides it back into his pocket, and stares at the ugly pattern on the seat in front of him. The garish colors and jagged lines makes his head hurt, but it draws his attention away from his aching heart, and that is all that matters.

 

…

 

New York is loud, and Robin is not sure if the city terrifies Roland or Marian more.   They cling together, a small family unit, as they navigate the unfamiliar city streets (it is not without it’s perils, as they find out in short order, and so they huddle together more). 

 

They find Neal’s apartment – their new home – by sundown.

 

“This place is horrible,” Marian tells him as they stand in the small space and while he agrees that the home lacks warmth, the word sound foreign to his ears.  Marian ~~had~~ has always been resilient, but now she seems petulant, stalking about the apartment and frown at everything, and he wonders: has it been that long since he was with Marian? Has he forgotten her rough edges, and only remembered what was good and pure about her? It feels like he must have, because it’s been this way since they were reunited, and he brought her back to the camp (they lived in a _tent_ – why is this apartment, with all it’s creature comforts, not good enough for her?)

 

She must notice his apprehension, because she stops and turns towards him, attempting a smile.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and Robin thinks he sees a glimmer of the woman he married, but it slides away quickly as she sighs and looks away.  “I’ll try to make this work.”

 

He closes the distance between them, reaching for her hands, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles.  It feels alien, to be like this with her, to be so close and so alone, and even as he squeezes their fingers together and promises _I will too_ , it doesn’t feel like enough.

 

Not yet.  Not until he tries a bit more – tries to forget Regina, tries to move on, tries to pull his family back together.

 

Maybe New York will be good for them.

 

…

 

Falling in love with Marian felt like the most obvious thing in the world – like knowing that the sky was blue, and dark clouds signaled rain, and that there would always be a calm before a storm regardless of where he found himself in the forest.

 

Falling in love with Regina felt quite different than that.  It was the least obvious thing, the least expected thing, and yet when it happened, Robin wondered what took him so long.  They fit together, with their sons and their lives and their equal paths of heartbreak.  He never wanted more than she was willing to give.  He admired her independence and her tenacity, for he never liked a woman who would not speak her mind (and, of course, he always had a thing for a dark-haired lass).  But intimacy took time to build with Marian, it came easy between him and Regina ( _soulmates_ , she told him, and he knew it to be true).

 

On the harder days, when he finds he does not love Marian, he tries to remind himself that not everything is simple or easy. 

 

It does not help.

 

…

 

New York is different, and yet it is not.

 

There is ice cream, which is the same everywhere in this realm apparently, and there is pizza, which is better than Granny’s.  There is a constant din and yet there are spaces so green that the noise tends to fade away.  Robin gravitates to these green places, where he can inhale the sharp scent of trees and grass amidst the other smells of this city, and where he can think.

 

And he spends a lot of time thinking about Marian (he will never admit to spending a lot of time thinking about Regina, not now when she is lost to him forever).

 

There are moments when Marian is with Roland that trigger fond affection for her, when she is not so much a stranger as the mother that Roland lost all those years ago.

 

But there are also moments when he looks at her, this woman who loses track of time staring out the window or off into space, and she is not the same woman who laughed at the sheriff and held her own with his merry band of men.  She is a stranger, and he keeps thinking about his phone, and Regina’s number, and how he will never see her again.

 

Perhaps he will learn to love her again.

 

Until then, he must be careful.

 

…

 

(He soon finds that he is always careful.  It becomes tedious.)

 

…

 

“Do you think we can make a fresh start?” Marian asks one night.  Roland is asleep on the couch in the other room, and they are in the bed but they are not touching.  He hugs the outer edge of the mattress for fear of giving her false hope.

 

“I would like nothing more,” he tells her, because there is no promise of love there – no promise that he will love her once more.  A fresh start feels different, more fruitful, and he does hope that they can do this, can give Roland the family that he deserves.

 

He hears Marian’s contented sigh, feels her fingers brush against his forearm, and does nothing.

  
…  

 

He can’t stop thinking of Regina.

 

He can’t stop missing Regina.

 

He can’t stop _loving_ Regina.

 

He tries.  He has always been good at self-denial and so he tries to not to look at the phone, not to take it out and stare at her number, not to touch his finger to the buttons and dial (no, he is not desperate to hear her voice, to hear her talk about Henry and their life in Storybrooke - ).

 

It is the absence of her that makes him realize how much he misses her, and how much he loves her, and how much he does not love Marian.   

 

He stares at her number like he’s a starving man being tempted with food, and in a way he is (he can still remember the taste of her skin, the scent of her hair, the way that she gasped out his name as he - )

 

Most of the time, he can distract himself.  The apartment is small, and there is very little time alone unless he escapes to the parks, but those moments must be fought for these days, with Marian’s constant questions and attempts to be helpful, to be loving.

 

But in the shower he thinks about _her_ , the smoothness of her skin and the timbre of her laugh, the way that her face light up when she saw him and the way that her fingers carded through his hair, tugging as he -

 

He takes himself in hand, and spend himself just as quickly, and shame coils in his gut (there is no honor in lusting after someone else when your wife is in the next room). 

 

…

 

Marian changes.

 

Slowly, she stops being so withdrawn, and as she becomes comfortable in the city, she blossoms.  She starts to venture into the neighborhood, starts to buy groceries, starts to cook meals.  She takes Roland to the park while Robin looks for work.  She smiles more.

 

She is still not the woman he loves, but she is closer to the woman he married.

 

(There is cold comfort in this fact.)

 

…

 

Rumplestiltskin enters their lives.

 

Rumplestiltskin departs their lives.

 

Life resumes it’s course.

 

And, once again, he chooses Marian over Regina.

 

(He can’t stop thinking about deleting Regina’s number once and for all, can’t stop thinking about the connection between them built on reciprocity and commitment and he feels sick.)

 

When they are together in bed that night, Marian presses herself close to this side and wraps her arm around his chest.  She says nothing, but he can practically feel the happiness in the way that her body relaxes against his, the way she melts into him.  

 

There is a hollowness in his chest, a longing in his gut, and Robin can’t help but remember she is not the woman he loves, but the woman he married.

 

It does little to appease his restless soul.

 

…

 

He tries.

 

He tries so hard – outings to the park, gentle touches of his hand against her shoulder and the small of her back (she jumped, at first, in Storybrooke, when he touched her and now she doesn’t).  He brings her flowers: wildflowers and the gentle first flowers of spring, his fingers plucking them from the merchant’s stand, his eyes refusing to look at the vibrant orchids and lilies that call to him, reminding him of Regina (lost, forever and ever).  He kisses her goodnight.

 

He takes her to bed, because he believes that maybe this will help (his body responds to hers like it always did and this is more familiar to him than anything else has been since Marian’s return).

 

When she tells him she’s pregnant, he believes that maybe this will help.

 

…

 

(It doesn’t).

 

…

 

“What have I done?” he asks, the whisky burning more and more with every sip (or maybe it’s the shame that threatens to set him on fire, to light him from the inside out as penance for his sins).

 

“You moved on.”  Regina sits on the bar stool next to him but she could be miles away for all of the distance between them, and his heart aches.

  
For his Marian, dead.

 

For his Regina, broken.

 

For his Roland, who has lost a mother again, and for himself, who has lost a bit of his soul.

 

He cannot pity himself; he did this.  He knew, in some way, that Marian was not Marian, that she was not his wife, but he made up excuses (he tells Regina this and she sighs and says nothing and he feels sicker and sicker).

 

They agree on a memory potion for Roland.

 

They agree on returning to Storybrooke, so that Zelena can be subdued.

 

They agree on everything, but it is automatic – it is what needs to be done, without any real thought behind it.  Regina takes out her phone and makes a few phone calls, tells him that they’re going to find a larger car (“I’m not riding with that woman”) and they pay the bar tab and go.

 

Robin makes an attempt to touch her arm as they leave (in spite of everything, he can’t believe that she’s here) and she flinches, pulls back (just like ~~Marian~~ Zelena in Storybrooke).

 

Being honorable has done nothing but backfire in his face – he’s become a pawn in a larger game, and it’s clear from the discussion at the bar that Regina is hurt by his actions despite their agreement (he knew better, he knew and yet - )

 

He doesn’t know what to do.

 

(He feels sick.)

 

..

 

Everything is a blur until they are on the road to Storybrooke.  He wants to talk to her but he can’t, because he feels everything and nothing at once. He has hurt Regina and Roland and the worst part is that he never intended to and –

 

Even with her anger (justly targeted at her sister) Regina is beautiful, and tender with Roland, and Robin realizes how much he missed her, and how greatly he loves her.  Regina weaves a story about his mother that will be handled with the memory potion when they return to Storybrooke, and he says nothing, just listens as Roland talks and talks and tells her about New York and everything that he has done until he falls asleep in his booster seat.

 

Regina’s phone vibrates as they cross over into Massachusetts, and she answers, exchanges a few words with whoever is at the other end.

 

“Zelena claims she needs to use the ladies room,” Regina tells him.  “We’re going to stop at a rest stop so Emma can take her.”

 

They stop at the gas station and while Emma handles their witch, Regina and Lily go inside to handle provisions while he waits by the car with Roland.  And while he waits, he thinks.

 

He is a victim here, he knows that much; a victim of his desire to be a better man.  But his honor has hurt Regina, and Roland, and there is nothing about this that sits easy with him because now there is a child in the mix who will make things difficult, and even painful for them all (and yet he cannot bring himself to hate the poor innocent babe who has been created in an act of revenge, for it is still his own flesh and blood and - )

 

Regina exits the building, walking towards him with the others following.  She hands him a coffee (it is too sweet and yet too bitter at the same time) before returning to the driver’s seat.  They say nothing.

 

It does not stay quiet for long.

 

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she tells him, eyes staring straight ahead, “and I know I told you that we could never be together.  But that doesn’t mean I’m not hurt.”

 

“Regina,” he starts, and she shakes her head.  When she speaks, he can hear the tears that she fights to hold back.

 

“I’m hurt because you’re hurt – because she hurt you to get after me.  She made you believe your wife was alive again, and she made Roland believe his mother was back, and then she took advantage of you and – “ her voice is shaky here, and Robin watches her hands loosen and then grip the wheel tighter, as if she is remembering something else, “and I hate her.  I hate her so much for what she did to you because of me.”

 

“I will be,” Robin admits, because he knows he will be.  Regardless of Zelena’s treachery, he knows that things will begin to right themselves.  “Roland will be fine.  And I hope we will be fine.”

 

When Regina turns to face him, he can see the unshed tears in her eyes, can see the way she bites her lip (not at all like a queen) before she smiles and in that brief smile, in that brief moment, he can see all the love she has for him, and he feels his own love swell inside him.

 

“We will be,” she tells him, reaching out her hand to take his.  “We will be.”


End file.
